


pretty in pink

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Eating, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Ice Cream, Licking, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 17:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14959295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: 5 Times Coulson wore pink, and one time he didn't. Written for Happy-Go-Cousy.





	pretty in pink

**i.**

She's done with her workout, still spending time here on her own.

Not exactly a part of the team now, but still a part of something. Coulson is the only one who acts like she never really left.

This helps keep her mind clear.

She walks towards the door leading out of the gym and towards the sleeping quarters when her eyes catch a flash of color.

It causes her to pause, take out her earbuds to cut the drowning loud music. It's replaced by the sound of a treadmill.

Rounding the corner, to get past the old brick column of the base blocking her view, she stops. And watches.

Coulson, jogging on the treadmill, wearing a gray t-shirt and bright pink running shorts.

It puts a smile on her face, for reasons she doesn't entirely examine, but she approaches him so that he notices.

"Hey," she says with a grin, wiping some of the sweat from her face.

"Hi," he says, between even breaths, raising his eyebrows at her as he continues his jog.

"Nice shorts," she tells him, raising her voice a little over the noise. "Where did you get them?"

"Oh, these old things?" he says with a smile, changing the setting to go faster. "They still fit. That's impressive, right?"

It makes her laugh, thinking of Coulson holding on to pink shorts from a lifetime ago. Obviously, there is some emotional attachment there, because that's how this works.

"An ex, perhaps?" she asks, really curious now, more than simply intrigued, and she leans her arm against the treadmill to let him know she's not going away anytime soon.

He gives her a look, one she's seen before, whenever she tries to ask him about this particular topic.

She's going to ask anyway. It never gets old, really. The idea that this is supposed to be off-limits only makes it fun.

"It's just not your usual style," she goes on, watching his forehead start to glisten with sweat.

"I have a style?" he asks her, his breathing more labored now.

"You had a closet full of suits, I would definitely call that a style," she says with a thoughtful nod.

"Guys in suits, kind of not your thing, if I recall," he says cockily, catching a breath as the treadmill slows down, ending the cycle setting.

He grabs the towel from the treadmill handle and dabs it on his face, although he really barely broke a sweat.

She twists her wrist, fidgeting, watching him and getting a good look at the shape of his legs now that he's in cool-down mode.

"If you had picked me up in those," she tells him, eyes sparkling with tease and following his movements. "I might have volunteered to join."

He tries to give her a warning look, but it's obvious he's flattered because he can't help smiling.

"Noted," he tells her, stepping off the treadmill and standing just out of reach. "When you're Director, you can make them standard issue."

"Your younger self, liked pink?" she asks him again, crossing her arms and knowing that the closest path to the door is through her.

" _Likes_ ," he says, way too flirty, walking past her, just close enough that she turns so he won't brush up against her.

She thinks she chickened out back there, but she can feel her own heartbeat in her throat.

"It looks good on you," she calls after him.

 

**ii.**

They're in the middle of a briefing when she notices the pale pink peeking out from under his field jacket.

It's not much, the jacket is zipped up high, and it's very pale.

But she notices.

Of course, it's at the worst time, she's supposed to thinking of something else. 

"Agent Johnson," Talbot says suddenly. "I'd like to know your thoughts, or if you're just going to repeat back to me exactly what Phil here just said?"

She blinks a few times, caught off guard, and looks over at Coulson, who is wearing a slight smile.

"We're not interested in helping recreate the Super Soldier Serum," she answers. "What we know about Inhumans is that we are engineered by the Kree, with very specific checks and balances in place. A guy like you should appreciate that."

"That's what I thought," Talbot says with a sigh. "I keep fooling myself that Coulson's in charge. This is a nice little setup you've got going here, Director Johnson."

"Inhumans are people, not weapons," she tells him because it bears repeating.

"You know she's right," Coulson chimes in. "Why don't you learn to work with Inhumans, instead of trying to make soldiers? Some of them might even want to help you."

"You had better keep Inhumans in line, and out of sight. Because people will look for any excuse. I'm trying to be your friend. You know that, don't you, Phil?"

She watches Coulson's gaze hardening, and his jaw starts to twitch.

"Pink, huh?" Talbot says, staring at his shirt. "Since when are you a _pink guy_?"

Coulson doesn't bother answering, just stands up letting him know the meeting is over.

Talbot gives them a silent acknowledgment and stares between them like he has something to add, then shakes his head and exits the room.

"Yeah, since when are you a _pink guy_ , Phil?" she asks once they're alone.

He gives her a droll look in reply, and tilts his head, but doesn't say anything else, just starts to pick up the briefing documents.

"Or is this another relic from the past?" she asks, leaning forward, balancing on the edge of the table like she's inspecting the shirt more closely.

"It's a t-shirt," he answers plainly, gathering the documents against his chest, his thigh touching the edge of the table.

"A laundry accident?" she asks with a gesture. "Because one time, I washed my unmentionables with a red dress at the laundromat, and, what a disaster."

He gives her a curious stare like she's hit upon a detail that interests him. He looks like he's waiting to see where this will go.

It makes her look away like she's a fake, down at the table and pretends to start tidying things up with him.

"Lucky for you, I gave specific instructions for how to separate the laundry," he offers, taking the rest of the papers she hands over.

"Good to know," she says with a smile, fingers gripping the back of a chair. "Good _Director_ tip."

"Glad to help," he tells her, as they make their way to the door together.

"You're a really helpful guy," she replies, and he stops to let her go through the door first. "It looks nice on you."

"What?" he asks, looking suddenly embarrassed. "Being nice?"

"Yes," she says with a smile. "No, I mean the shirt. Definitely."

She walks through the door and he gives it a few seconds before he follows.

 

**iii.**

"Don't start."

"What? It looks good on you," she says over the rush of wind, as she turns down into the alley.

He raises up to look back at the black SUV tailing them, then sits down in Lola's seat, swathed in a fluffy bubblegum pink bathrobe.

"I should drive," he tells her. "You're the one with the powers."

"It's a bit late for that," she tells him, pushing down harder on the pedal. "You don't keep weapons in here, right?"

"Lola _is_ the weapon," he tells her, and glances up at the sky, wondering if they should risk being spotted.

He's still a little ruddy, the chemical compound the Watchdogs used was meant for Inhumans, but she's sure it can hurt humans as well.

Thankfully the apartments were evacuated, and they were able to get the Inhuman target to safety. She was able to escape it thanks to her powers, but Coulson had been in one of the apartments when it went off.

And they circled back around, while Coulson tried to decontaminate in the fastest way possible by jumping in the tenant's shower. The Watchdogs are that ballsy, and Talbot and the ATCU showed up in time to finish them off.

But now she's got a tail and the Director of SHIELD next to her in a pink bathrobe.

"I think we have to risk it," she tells him.

"I'll be spotted with the 'Infamous Quake'," he says with a smirk and starts to flip switches on Lola's console.

Staring into the rearview mirror, she waits until the SUV is just upon them, the bad guys leaning out with their big guns and triumphant expressions.

Then they go vertical and watch the SUV trying to avoid crashing into the row of dumpsters, unsuccessfully. She hears the ruckus and smiles.

Coulson is leaning over Lola's door, watching. The edge of the bathrobe creeping up his thighs as it blows around him.

He turns back around with a smug look on his face. "That felt good," he says when he catches her expression. "What?"

"I was just admiring the view," she teases, and puts Lola in cruise mode, staring ahead.

"It's a nice robe," he tells her, as he settles into the seat, propping his legs up on the dash, his hands behind his head. "Really soft."

He seems okay. It actually feels like a win today, and they don't get many of those.

Coulson has closed his eyes like he's enjoying the moment, the warm sun on him, and she feels a pang of desire.

For the fluffy robe, instead of her field suit. The blissful expression on his face. The quiet around them.

Coulson really does look nice in pink. He looks like he's practically glowing. Soft, like the robe.

"Ice cream," he says, his eyes still closed. "Have you ever had Kohr Bros. custard?"

"No, I haven't," she answers, as he sits up in the seat, animated by the idea.

When they land at the beach, they call into the base, and she trades a few pictures with one of the vendors for some t-shirts and shorts and the promise that he'll wait 24 hours before posting them.

"The Infamous Quake," Coulson says again happily, as he pulls the pink t-shirt over his head.

She turns around as he drops the rest of the robe to pull on the shorts, and accidentally catches a flash of skin in Lola's side mirror and has to pause.

Her field suit could draw attention, so she quickly strips down to her sports bra and underwear, hoping he didn't see her staring.

"Here," he says, handing over the black wind shorts, making sure his eyes are on hers and not anywhere else.

Even so, it feels like some sort of line has been crossed.

They're not on a mission right now.

 

**iv.**

"Maybe I should just toss this into the ocean," Coulson says, looking down at his too-quiet phone.

She's staring at the hair on his legs, and his toes sliding in and out of the cheap flip-flops into the warm sand.

"What if the world needs saving?" she shrugs, watching him squint in the sun through her bright red sunglasses.

"The Avengers are around, right?" he asks her. "Sort of?"

"No one knows who I am right now," she says, looking around the busy beach, hearing the sounds of people playing and the ocean waves lapping the shore. "It's one of the things I liked about disappearing for a while."

"Hmm," he agrees, nodding his head. "I kept seeing you everywhere."

She knows he's talking about all the time he spent looking for her, trying to stay on her trail when she didn't want to be found.

It feels riskier than it should, reaching out to slide her hand along his elbow in a comforting gesture.

He watches her fingers move over his skin like he's waiting. It feels like they are both in a holding pattern.

Then he turns his hand over and leaves it open, palm up. An offer.

She puts her fingers along his palm, until his curl around her hand, holding it.

"Can I buy you a frozen custard?" he asks. "Small thanks for the rescue."

She thinks about how well Coulson does small gestures like this, it makes her smile. "Sure."

They get to their feet and he slides the flip-flops back on and shakes the sand out, without letting her hand go as they walk towards the boardwalk.

He sorts out paying for it with his phone and buys one huge cone when she suggests that they share. She snags some napkins to wipe the drip from his finger as he watches her take the first lick of it, swiping her tongue along it in a long stroke.

His eyelashes flutter while he watches her, so it has the intended effect, and then she lets his wrist go and he goes right for the top of it, hollowing out his cheeks while he takes the cap of it off in one suck.

"Hmm," she says, raising an eyebrow, impressed, as he tries not to laugh and swallow at the same time. "It's good, right?"

"Yeah," he answers after he's finished it, running his tongue over his bottom lip. "I like to get a little bit of both," he tells her, referring to the chocolate and vanilla swirl of the custard.

She takes his wrist again and raises the cone between them, it starts to drip on her own fingers and she licks at it again on one side, and he hesitates for only a moment, then laps at it on his until their tongues meet for a moment.

It's silly, but it's electric and new, and they both pull back a little and she goes for the pile of napkins to wipe the melting sticky-sweet off her fingers.

Instead, he takes her hand and lifts it and licks it off her fingers, a cocky smile starting to form when her breath hitches.

The idea that this would never, ever happen in The Playground crosses her mind. The idea of the possibility of more, without that intrusion, starts to take shape.

The cone starts to drip on the front of his shirt, onto his lap, and if they weren't in a very public place, this would end very differently.

"Messy," he says with a sigh, and then closes his eyes when she moves the napkin over the plastic fabric of his shorts.

"Just being helpful," she assures him with a teasing voice and then drops the napkin and leans forward and kisses him on the mouth.

"Daisy." He always makes her name sound so reverent. "I-"

"Yeah," she tells him when he doesn't finish. She nods her head. "This doesn't feel complicated, though."

He kisses her back, gathering her to him, hands slipping into her hair to the nape of her neck.

She makes a fist in the pink t-shirt and pulls him in closer to her, opening her mouth as he deepens the kiss.

Sweeter than the ice cream.

 

 **v.**  
  
He swipes the pink shade across her pinky toe and blows on it, rubbing his thumb along her ankle, then pressing his lips to it after.

Inhaling against the lapel of the fluffy pink robe, she lays on top of the lumpy motel bed, watching him finishing with the bottle of nail polish, setting the cap back on and twisting it closed.

"It looks good on you," he says, leaning across her to set the bottle on the nightstand and then shift back to where he's sitting on the bed, positioned between her legs.

He smiles at her, playfully, his hands resting on his thighs and suddenly seeming a little less seductive, as she sits up, widening her legs and kisses him holding onto his neck, moving her hand down his back.

Coulson is still shy about his scars, at the difference in their ages. His confidence seems entirely dependent on her giving him permission to do this. To want this.

It's a kind of power she's not used to, and it has its own kind of intoxication, and the fact that she already trusts him with so much makes her doubts melt away.

His hands slide along her legs again, still sticky from the ice cream. Bent at the knees and he presses them against his sides, tracing the backs of her knees with his thumbs.

She likes the possibility of this. Of Coulson like this, wide open, and she lays back, untying the robe and pulling it apart.

"It _really_ looks good on you," he manages, and she can already see his body is responding, his cock hardening as his eyes move over her, soaking her in, his hand sweeping across her stomach.

She likes this connection and the way she feels when he looks at her. She always has. How it seems strangely familiar but thrilling at the same time.

He wants to make this about her, too, kissing every part of her, tracing the shape of her body with the tip of his tongue in slow detail.

Oh, this would've made it impossible for her to leave. Maybe that is what he wants.

To make sure she'll never leave again.

The noise he makes when she runs her nails along his scalp, through his short hair, makes her direct him lower, as he enthusiastically presses his tongue inside her as deep as he can, tasting her.

The more sound she makes, the more gentle he gets, coaxing a shallow orgasm out of her that makes her legs tremble, planting kisses along the inside of her thighs.

"I told you I liked it," he tells her, pressing a finger against her opening, pushing one slowly inside of her.

She's never felt so wet, or ready for where this will end up.

"Pink," he says with a smile.

She curls her fingers tightly in his hair.


End file.
